


To Build a Better World

by cakeisnotpie



Series: Phil/Clint This is Fear Universe [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Espionage, M/M, Mutual Pining, Phil's a superhero, Political Intrigue, Slow Burn, Sokovia Accords, Superhero Registration, au hero registration, darker world, opposite sides, phil coulson college professor, shadow heroes, what if
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 00:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16882560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: #3 in my This is Fear universe.Someone doesn't want Dr. Phil Coulson publishing his latest book, an expose of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s dirty laundry. Meanwhile, Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin, wants to make a deal.  It's probably a trap, but it's also an opportunity, one Phil has to take if he's going to figure out what's going on.  Oh, and there's a distinct chance he might run into Clint Barton aka Hawkeye aka Ronin again.





	To Build a Better World

**Author's Note:**

> Part #3 of my This is Fear Universe. 
> 
> What if superheros were forced to register or go rogue? Somewhere between the government-sanctioned S.H.I.E.L.D. and criminal organizations like H.Y.D.R.A., a number of heroes operate in the shadows, refusing to sign their rights away or be revealed. Phil Coulson signed the accords, Clint Barton didn't but that doesn't matter once fate throws them in each other's paths just as the world is about to explode.

“Phil? You got a moment?” 

 

He paused, juggling his briefcase and lunch box in one hand with his coffee mug in the other; he had to wiggle his office key to get it out of the sticky lock.  

 

“John?”  Surprised to see the Provost in the hallway, Phil nudged the door with his hip so he could drop everything but his coffee on the chair just inside. “What are you doing up the hill? I thought they kept you locked in your office down in administration.” 

 

“I had to slip out when Norma took her once-a-day smoke break,” John Garrett answered, following Phil into the small space. “Ninety-one and she still has eyes in the back of her head, I swear.”

 

“I heard a rumor she’s going to retire next year;  Doris stayed until her ninety-second birthday. If Norma holds out until May, she’ll beat her by six days.” Putting his coffee on the battered coaster, Phil hit the button to boot up his computer then went to open the one slim window. They’d turned the heat on last week and, of course, the temperature jumped up during the day, still cool enough to kick the boiler on at night and leave the whole building at sauna levels by the time the sun came out. “If they go by seniority, that will put Justine next in line.” 

 

“Hush. I have nightmares just from hearing her name.”  John pushed the door closed and leaned against the edge of Phil’s desk.  “She’s never forgotten that one time I asked her to make copies at 3:45 pm on a Friday.” 

 

His senses went on alert; even with his inhibitor on, Phil’s powers worked enough to know when something was up. John wasn’t the best at subterfuge, a fact he often complained about now that he’d gone to the dark side of administration, but Phil was getting the strongest urge to do more than passively wait.  Shifting some papers around, he unobtrusively tapped the edge of his watch to turn on the recording function. 

 

“Collate and staple ‘em too.”  Phil pulled his rolling chair back and sat down. “But shooting the shit is not why you risked wrath and ruin to casually run into me in the hall.  If this is about the strategic plan and university-wide goals I’m supposed to be working on …” 

 

“Nah, those are on hold. No one’s near ready to start working on the next accreditation visit so soon after the last one.  I told the President that was a pipe dream.” John looked down, curled his fingers and picked at a hangnail. “Actually, I told him I was going to talk to the faculty more, get your feedback.  Looks really good to at least say we’re pretending to take your concerns into account.” 

 

“Un huh.”  Phil wasn’t buying it. “Told you no one would come to lunch with the senior staff. We barely have time to do our grading as it is.” 

 

“God, help me, but I’d rather be facing a stack of freshman Western Civ papers than dealing with the Trustees.  Herding cats is easy in comparison, especially with the new batch of members. They’ve got no clue what academia is all about, think we should run like a business, that the students are consumers.”  He put air quotes around that last word. “Heaven save us from people who’ve never heard the word tenure and think we should build swimming pools instead of hire faculty.” 

 

There, a little ping on Phil’s radar; if he’d been able to ramp up his senses, he’d have a better forecast, but it was strong enough to let him make an educated guess. “Which is it?  New facilities or denial of tenure? Someone wants to rock the boat?” 

 

His friend sighed, shoulders slumping. “Look, I can’t …”  

 

“I know.”  And Phil did; trustees could be notoriously secretive, particularly when they were hell-bent on making some asinine change, which, unfortunately, seemed to be all too often. “Let’s do it this way.  I see they just finished the new wellness center’s second revamping of the gym floor; should I renew my membership off-campus for another year or two?” 

 

John snorted. “If someone suggested one more upgrade to that place, I’m going to climb the bell tower with a slingshot and break every one of those goddamn expensive windows.  Tinted blue to help with eye strain, Phil! At three times the cost of the original designer ones the donor picked.”

 

“Okay, are we going to see yet another new ‘critical thinking across campus’ initiative to waste more money on rooms with fancy furniture?”  The pulse in Phil’s temple slowed; he was on the wrong track. 

 

“Social responsibility’s the new buzzword, Phil. Get with the program.” John shook his head.  “Hey, at least we got those really nice padded chairs out of the WAC center. I still have one in my office.” 

 

Time to go for the sore spot. “Nobody talking about doing away with tenure for new hires again, are they?” 

 

A wince told Phil he had hit close to home. 

 

“That’s a train that’s going to be leaving the station soon.” John cursed. “Can’t get them to understand about academic freedom; they’re all worried about the image of the school, how so-and-so’s research will reflect on us, drive away potential students.  Numbers are down, you know that, and the costs are so high kids are thinking twice before committing to going in debt. I keep telling ‘em it’s not faculty like you, writing your books, that are the problem, it’s the jumped up little shits who are more interested in jargon and political agendas that turn parents off.  Nobody wants to send their children to a place that offers classes like Beyonce as Philosophy and Shared Safe Spaces 101. Not at these prices.” 

 

Phil had long ago agreed to disagree with John’s politics; for the most part, they shared the same big picture, to put knowledge and learning first.  But it wasn’t John’s examples that pinged Phil’s radar; it was the comment about his book. 

 

“Someone said something about my new book?” Phil dropped the act and leaned forward. “I gave you the blurb to put in the faculty accomplishment section of the Trustee’s Report.”

 

“Phil, I …” 

 

“They did. They’re worried about it?  Or …” Phil’s mind leaped ahead to the logical conclusion. “Because my findings raise questions about S.H.I.E.L.D.  They don’t want the controversy, the media coverage because it will be, what, bad for our reputation? Yeah, how dare we have faculty who are publishing the truth rather than the lies we’ve been handed …” 

 

“Hey, I stood up for you, okay?”  John dropped his voice. “It’s bullshit, all of it, and I told them so. Not in so many words, but I gave them a piece of my mind.  We go where the truth leads us, that’s what historians do. And there are lots of people out there who’ll appreciate their kid being taught by the man who exposed some wrongs.” 

 

As quickly as the anger rose, it slipped back into a dull ache in his chest. “So what are you saying?  I shouldn’t worry? Because you know I’m going to. Not going to stop me, mind you, but I’ll worry.” 

 

“I’m saying, for the moment, things are status quo.”  His left eye twitched and Phil knew that was only temporary. “But it might be good to keep a weather eye open. In case. I mean, whatever. Shit happens, right?” 

 

“Yeah, it does.”  Phil stood as John did. “Thanks for the warning.” 

 

John’s phone played the chorus to the Eagles’  _ Witchy Woman _ . 

 

“Damn it, she’s found me.”  He checked his messages. “Seems I’ve got a meeting with the president of the student senate about that stupid coffee bar. Tell me why we ever agreed to free coffee from an alumni donor?  More trouble than it’s been worth. Had to replace the carpeting twice already.”

 

“Because he also gave money for that new computer lab.” 

 

“True.” John tucked his phone in his pocket.  “I’ve got to go or she’ll give me that look again, the one that reminds me of my grandma.”  He started to turn then stopped. “You sure about your sources, Phil? I’m mean, I don’t doubt you, but …” 

 

Phil just stared at him. 

 

“Right, of course. Had to ask, right? Plausible deniability.”  

 

As soon as John was gone, Phil sank down behind his desk and ran his fingers around his inhibitor.  Only the knowledge that he’d have to fill out the paperwork … anything over ten seconds had to be officially recorded and justified … stopped him.  In truth, he didn’t need it to know there was no coincidence; sending the title and the publication date of his book was opening a can of worms, and he’d thought he was prepared.  Skeptics were going to come out of the woodwork, the pro-registration crowd with their handy excuses and memorized soundbites on why tiny missteps were no reason to question the whole system.  Hell, if he hadn’t seen the evidence himself, he wouldn’t have believed some of what made it into the final draft. And what he’d left out? He’d have never gotten a green light from his publisher if he’d put it in.  

 

“Hey, was that Garrett I saw strolling down the hall?”  Melinda stuck her head in the door. “I thought he was just a figment of the President’s imagination.” 

 

“Sometimes he remembers what it was like to be a real boy.”  Phil tucked his concern behind his usual smile and nod. “He escaped Norma and came up to say hi.  The coffee fiasco is back on the agenda, it seems.” 

 

“Oh, God, not that again. You know what I say ..” She paused and let him finish the sentence.

 

“Just rent out space to Starbucks and get it over with.”  Phil’s chuckle was genuine; she could always cheer him up. “I’d rather have a Bourbon Coffee, but anything’s better than the cheap sludge they have at the cafeteria.” 

 

“Speaking of which, I have a general education committee meeting today; any thoughts on the writing assessment?”  

 

He threw a paperclip at her and she laughed. “Don’t you dare bring up the Ass word.  I’m so done with it and useless meetings. I’ve got papers that need grading.”

 

“Me too,” she agreed. “Me too.”

 

* * *

 

His phone rang just as he arrived home; he pushed the front door shut with his heel and answered after he glanced at the caller’s name.

 

“Mac!”  His messenger bag slid down his shoulder and he hung his keys on the hook by the fridge as he entered his kitchen. “I was going to send you a text to see if you’d heard about anything about copyright permissions. Is the family still dragging its heels on that one photo?  I’m really starting to think we should leave it out; we can use the one from the newspaper archives, save ourselves a lot of trouble.” 

 

“Haven’t heard from ‘em yet,” Mac Mackenzie, Phil’s longtime friend and literary agent, said. “I think you’re right; they’re worried about the blowback on them and I can understand that, but that’s not why I called.” 

 

A fission of cold ran up Phil’s spine. “Okay,” he drawled the word out. “What’s up?” 

 

“First, know I’m behind you 100%. No doubts, no fear, right?”  Mac paused then plunged on. “The editor sent me a list of details she’s questioning.  Most are the ones we expected, but there are two larger sections …” 

 

“The Zola deal and Pym’s reason for leaving.”  The certainty settled in Phil’s chest. They were finally playing their hand. 

 

“Sometimes, you’re scary.” Mac sighed. “She suggested omitting them both; I told her we’d pull the whole project and go to Simon & Schuster if she insisted. Might have even hinted they’ve already shown interest, which, if you count Lucas talking to you at the last conference, is true.” 

 

“I have his number somewhere. What did she say?”  

 

“She folded; I figure we give her the smaller ones, she can take those to her bosses. Honestly, I think she was relieved I pushed back; Elena’s not the type to bow to pressure.”

 

“We knew some people wouldn’t like what I had to say; I’m just sorry she got caught in the middle. Probably won’t be the only issues raised.”

 

“You let me deal with it; that’s my job,” Mac said. “They’ll have to come through me.”

 

Last thing Phil wanted was Mac getting hurt.  “It’s a book. I’ll be fine no matter what happens.” 

 

“It’s important, Phil.  What they’ve done … people have been hurt, and the ones we trusted to take care of us are the ones who did it.  Everyone needs to know.” 

 

“The truth will out,” Phil told him.  “Might not be me, but the story will come out.” 

 

“I hope you’re right,” he said.  “I hope your right.”

 

* * *

 

“... more are coming up from the sewers, and they’ve overrun the barrier set up near Peachtree Plaza …” 

 

Phil strode across the hanger bay, his go-bag tossed over his shoulder; nodding to Moon Knight, he hit the end of the ramp and started to join the rest of the team onboard.  Listening to the play-by-play from Atlanta, he had already formed a working hypothesis and had a plan to take down the person in control. 

 

“Grey Force!”  Maria Hill called his name over the roar of the engines starting; she motioned, and he followed her off the jet. Once they were clear, she circled her hand and gave the signal to launch.  

 

“What’s the hell’s going on?”  Phil demanded, anger tightening the back of his throat.  “There are people in danger!”

 

“Pierce wants to see you.”  Unflappable, Maria shrugged off Phil’s complaint.  “Said it was important, only you could do it. He’s in his office.” 

 

As he crossed the large compound, Phil fumed; this was the first time he’d been called up in the last three months, and he knew the others were running on fumes, putting out fire after fire.  Chasing leads on the Hulk and the Abomination, dealing with H.Y.D.R.A. outbreaks … Phil was being sidelined and he was ready to get some answers. Pierce wouldn’t be straight with him, but a face-to-face conference was a start. 

 

“Okay, why are you benching me?” Phil didn’t wait for Pierce to turn away from the monitors. “It’s obvious you don’t want me out in the field.”  

 

The Director held up a hand, forestalling Phil’s next words as he watched Spiderman web up one of the strange looking machines and yank it into the water.  

 

“Kid’s got some real potential as a leader,” Pierce said. “Give him a few years and he’ll be fronting the main team.” 

 

Phil bit his tongue; there was no use trying to rush the Director.  He’d get where he was going in his own sweet time. Instead, Phil let his gaze go unfocused, watched the possibilities spin out, lines crossing and returning, joining and splintering off to dwindle and die.  

 

“I know, I know.”  Pierce nodded Phil’s way, walked over to his desk, and took a piece of licorice from a glass bowl. “What did you think would happen?  The Council’s looking askance after you ran off with Steve Rogers; I trust you, but they have doubts. You have to understand the tenuous nature of the accords; machinations within machinations, that’s the only constant politicians understand.”

 

“So you put me on the sidelines to salve their conscience?” The World Security Council might want to tamp down on controversy, but they didn’t have the wherewithal to come at him through his publisher and his job. No, this threat was deeper, hidden behind layers and layers he needed to sift through. 

 

“Sometimes it’s best to give them what they want. They want you out of the field, I can do that.”  He picked up a folder and passed it over to Phil. “Doesn’t mean we can’t put your talent to work.”

 

A plan within a plan; exactly what Pierce was known for. Phil flipped through the pages, giving them a quick scan; his ability worked best if he didn’t push, let the information arrange itself without forcing it.  A name jumped out at him followed by the location. 

 

“Is he serious?”  Phil had to ask. “This could be a trap …” 

 

“But you don’t think so.” Pierce eyed him directly. “I think Fisk has his own agenda, but, if we give him what he wants, he’ll give us his files.” 

 

Wilson Fisk was one of the biggest crime lords; he had his fingers in every illegal activity on the east coast.  Some said he worked for H.Y.D.R.A., ran supplies for A.I.M. and was the only person with direct access to Victor Von Doom’s Latvia castle. If he was willing to deal, well, that was a damn right scary prospect.  What could make Kingpin need the help of S.H.I.E.L.D.? It had to be …

 

Phil sat down on the air of the ultra-modern chair. “It’s true then.  They’re inside S.H.I.E.L.D.” 

 

“It was only a matter of scope,” Pierce acknowledged. “The goal’s always been to keep infiltration at a manageable level.” 

 

“Identify them then feed false information.” A viable strategy, at least until the enemy grew wise to it. “But now they’re taking over, bit-by-bit.  Labs, prisons, bases, who knows where they are?” 

 

“Fisk says he has information.  I need someone I can trust to meet with him, someone who’ll be three steps ahead of him.” 

 

“He won’t let me in the front door; he’s vocal about his dislike of costumed heroes in general and Spiderman specifically.  I’ve worked with the kid; no way Fisk will want me around,” Phil protested. 

 

“He won’t accept Grey Force, true.  That’s why you’re going in as Dr. Phil Coulson, historian and author of a dozen books including a forthcoming one revealing S.H.I.E.L.D.’s secrets.  Fisk’s a megalomaniac; you think he’ll turn down a chance to be interviewed by you?” 

 

Like a punch to his gut, hearing his name fall from Pierce’s lips knocked the wind out of him.  Of course, Pierce knew who he was; the Director knew the identities of all operatives, but the Accords had put many safeguards in place to maintain their safety.  Saying it where there might be a chance of being overheard wasn’t done, much less asking Phil to take the risk of being outed for an assignment. 

 

“Don’t worry.” Pierce took a small device from his pocket. “State-of-the-art personal jamming; this room is completely safe. And you know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t vital. We have to know how deep this goes, Phil, and Fisk maybe our only chance.  I need to know what he has and what he wants.” 

 

He was going to do it; Phil could see it all laid out before him as clear as a sharpie drawn line on a map, a path littered with pitfalls, traps, and people who wanted him to fail. But there were answers too, and something more, something so faint it brushed against his senses like a hint of a breeze.  Whatever the end might be, he’d already taken the first steps, had been headed this direction since the moment that USB drive came into his possession. 

 

Besides, he thought as he nodded to Pierce, it had been almost nine months since he’d crossed paths with one Clint Barton; it was time to see him again. 

 

“Okay. What do I do?” 

 

* * *

 

“Dr. Coulson?”  The young man waited beside the limo, a sign in his hand with Phil’s name. “Do you have any luggage?” 

 

“This is all.”  Phil kept a hand on his briefcase and swung his overnight case through the open door then slid into the back seat.  “If you could take me to the Marriott …” 

 

“Mr. Fisk has arranged a suite for you at the Presidential Hotel,” he said as he got in and started the car.  “He’s very excited about your visit; he’s quite a fan.” 

 

Wrong. Finally, someone was making a move. Phil's fingers brushed the door handle before the locks clicked closed and gas began to filter into the air. 

 

“What the …” he managed to say before the world began to spin. 

 

“Never was good at this undercover stuff.” The driver’s voice distorted and began to fade away. “Too bad about the …” 

 

Floating, Phil felt the car moving but couldn’t make his limbs respond.  Music played loudly, rap songs collapsing and combining into long sentences of gibberish. Hands moving him, a harsh voice, a blindfold … Phil couldn’t get his bearings at all until he finally woke up, blinking his eyelids against the bright light of a bare bulb.  Hands tied to the metal bars of the headboard, he was stretched out on a lumpy mattress.

 

“... matter what she wants, if I don’t get paid half now, we’re going to dump him in the river.”  

 

A male voice, slight accent, something eastern European, Russian…

 

“No. We sell him to Kingpin; the man promised his safety and will pay to keep him alive.” 

 

A second man, deeper pitch, clearly Romanian. “Fisk will kill you rather than look at your ugly face.  I’m saying the Hand are good for it; we trust what we’ve been told and we’ll be fine.” 

 

A woman, American, tiniest hint of the upper peninsula of Michigan in her phrasing. “We do the job; that’s it.” 

 

Footsteps on a wooden floor, the camp cot vibrating under Phil’s cheek.  

 

“You’re all wrong.  The Hand’s on their way to get him and you’re expendable,” Clint said.  Three pops of bullets and thumps as bodies hit the floor. “Idiots.” His familiar face appeared in Phil’s line of sight as the blindfold was removed. “So, the whole rope and being tied up thing?  Turns your crank or too much like work?

 

Phil glanced around; he saw his briefcase and suitcase by the door of the small apartment. “I prefer to be the one doing the tying. You tipped off Fisk?”

 

Clint drew back. “Your inhibitor’s off.” 

 

“And you’re here for a reason.” It didn’t take much of a leap to figure it out; there was no way Clint just happened to be in the neighborhood. 

 

“God, you are sexy when you do that.”  Clint grinned. “You know they’re setting you up, right? An accidental outing, that’s what it’ll be.”

 

“That might be someone’s plan, but it’s not going to work.  Fisk is planning a double-cross; he’s going to flush out the deadwood. He thinks someone who works for him is feeding info to S.H.I.E.L.D.”

 

Clint chuckled. “Fisk still doesn’t know he’s practically working for S.H.I.E.L.D.  You’re the salve that’s going to ease his conscience, make him think he’s still in control?”

 

“I doubt they told me the real plan,” Phil admitted.  “Why is Ronin in town? Fisk planning on assassinating someone?

 

“Smart and savvy and a mighty fine ass.” Clint gave the barest shrug. “Word is, Bullseye’s in town and he might be targeting Fisk. Can’t say I’d mind wiping that bastard out; he killed a good friend of mine.” 

 

“Not to mention he’s pretended to be Hawkeye a few times.” Phil tugged on the restraints, felt some give. “And here I thought you just wanted to see me.”

 

“Oh, I’ve been looking for an excuse to get close to you again.”  Clint sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned closer. “Been what, six months since we crossed paths in Middlebury? And here you are in that sweater and glasses, just waiting like a present under the Christmas tree.” 

 

“You mean to kill him. Bullseye.”  Phil had no doubt of that. 

 

So close Phil could see the crenellations in those blue-grey eyes, Clint gave a lopsided grin.  “Now, you know I can’t tell you my dastardly plan. You’ll feel duty bound to stop me.” 

 

“So much for starting to trust me.” Phil’s senses went on overload and Clint tilted just a hair closer. 

 

“Oh, I do. If it had been anyone else, I’d have dumped them unconscious on Fisk’s doorstep. You, on the other hand …”

 

Phil flicked his eyes closed as Clint’s lips brushed his, soft and light.  He’d already crossed the line when it came to Clint, walked over his ethical boundaries like they didn’t matter, and he was damn well going to do it again.  Not just because of the kiss or his attraction to Clint, both of which were enough in themselves, but he’d didn’t like being lied to, that the laws he’d followed w being used against him. 

 

“Damn.” Clint blinked, lashes brushing his skin. “Why don’t we just toss it all out the window and sneak away together? You and me, a big bed …”

 

Surging up, Phil caught Clint in mid-sentence, kissing him deeply, taking what he wanted.  A tiny gasp and Clint’s lips parted; Phil swiped his tongue along the bottom and dipped inside for a quick taste.  His future unspooled, today, tomorrow, next week, next month, next year. Three steps ahead, where this was leading, a sea change coming. 

 

A beeping and Clint pulled back, cursing under his breath.  “Damn it. Fisk’s men will be here in less than ten.” 

 

“Go,” Phil said. “We can talk about sleeping in later.” 

 

“I’ll hold you to that.”  

 

* * *

 

“... to continue with the interview.”  Wilson Fisk, in a perfectly tailored white suit and carrying a glass of the world’s most expensive whiskey, crossed the living room towards his desk. “Lesser men would have canceled, but you impress me, Dr. Coulson; you more than live up to my expectations.  Taking on S.H.I.E.L.D. in your new book …” 

 

“I’m just after the truth,” Phil interrupted.  Fisk had a bad habit of pontificating on his favorite subjects and his dislike of Alexander Pierce was top of that list.  “I’m no hero, Mr. Fisk. I’m a historian who believes everyone should have a voice.” 

 

“Indeed.”  Fisk gave that smug grin, the one that said he knew more than he let on; Phil was sure, after spending two hours in the man’s company, that Fisk didn’t have a clue.  Oh, the Kingpin believed he was controlling the situation, using Phil as a cover to suss out S.H.I.E.L.D.’s intentions, but his focus was on his own empire, his power.  He couldn’t see the forest for the trees. “Well, this should help in that effort.” 

 

The USB drive fit in Phil’s palm; he tucked it into his inside jacket pocket.  “I do appreciate you taking the time to …” 

 

The first thump was loud enough to make Phil flinch; a grinding sound followed before shrapnel exploded out of the hole in the window.  A sharp burn in his upper arm and Phil hit the floor, ducking behind an expensive leather chair. Running feet … Fisk’s bodyguards charging into the room … more thumps …. cracks spiderwebbing across the pain of glass … red staining white linen … Fisk shouting orders … shots drilling into the far wall … Phil ran his finger over his bracelet, dialing up the senses even higher.  

 

“Get the shooter!” Fisk’s face flushed red, his nostrils flaring. “Lower the Goddamn security blinds!” 

 

“The whole system is offline,” one of the security men said as he scuttled from behind the dining table to the white sofa.  Tapping the piece in his ear, he spoke: “Chambers and Mendez, what’s your ETA?” 

 

Rolling onto his back, Phil let the information filter in and out, circling into possibilities.  Bullseye in town; Clint on his trail. Assassinations, crime lords, shadow supers, H.Y.D.R.A., S.H.I.E.L.D., inside people, moles. He added in the rest of the data --  the Hulk, Betty Ross, hesitant publishers, pushy board members, being sidelined -- then multiplied by the pattern of bullets in the far wall, not a random scatter, but carefully placed intervals that missed the studs and punched through the drywall …

 

As quickly as it started, the shooting stopped.  

 

“Shooter’s rabbited,” the security man said. “My men will process the scene …” 

 

“You’ll find nothing.” Wilson sat up, leaning to one side.  The red-rimmed hole in his suit flexed as he moved his arm. “That’s air chamber glass; they were prepared.”  

 

Phil gasped as he pushed himself up, drawing attention his way.  “Black tip bullets. Used them in Afghanistan. Drilled a hole with the first one then second punched through and splintered.” 

 

“See to Dr. Coulson,” Fisk ordered the closest man.  “Then take him to his hotel and do a security sweep to make sure he’s safe.”

 

“I’m okay; it’s just a graze.  Could have been much worse,” Phil insisted.  

 

“Yes, it could have been.” Fisk’s eyes tracked around the room, landing on the perfectly spaced holes in the far wall. “Kelso, check my closet, see what damage’s been done.” He turned back to Phil. “Please allow me to arrange for my pilot to fly you back to DC tomorrow and a car to take you home.  I’ll feel better knowing you arrived safely.” 

 

“You know, I do think I’ve had enough for the day.” Phil winced as the man cut his jacket and shirt to get to his wound. “Perhaps we can finish the interview at another time?” 

 

“I think that’s for the best,” Fisk agreed. 

 

* * *

 

“What do you make of it all?”  Pierce asked, circling his desk to stand before the screen where all of Fisk’s data was on display.  

 

“There’s definitely a pattern. See this?” Phil spun a piece of data to the front. “And here?”  He added another. “And this one?” He spread them out. “That’s just the tip of the iceberg. A concerted effort to affect the outcome of events.” 

 

Pierce studied the information. “But what’s the goal?  No one side benefits.” 

 

“Chaos, sir.  They want to sew dissension and rancor, make us less likely to trust each other.”  

 

“It seems to be working.”  Pierce sighed. “The Shadows are on a crusade to undermine S.H.I.E.L.D. Ross is scouring the globe for word of his daughter and the Hulk.  Fisk has an all-out manhunt on for Bullseye. We’re already drawing battle lines.” 

 

“Did we verify what the target was in the Fisk shooting?”  Phil rubbed his sleeve above his bandaged wound. “We both know Bullseye never misses.” 

 

“Fisk’s main power conduit. The backup runs through a server in New Jersey, one that was compromised ahead of time.  No one’s saying how much he got, but, judging by the size of the response, I’d imagine Fisk’s whole organization has been compromised.” 

 

“Knocking out power with a bullet? That’s a serious feat. Yeah, that has to be Bullseye.” Phil tilted his head and let a heartbeat of silence go by.  “Fisk hands over information; Bullseye takes it from Fisk. Our someone is contracting out.” 

 

“Yes, yes they are.”  Pierce turned his sharp eyes on Phil. “And I want you to find out who and why.” 

* * *

 

He loved running in the early morning, when the city was just waking, the streets mostly clear and the sidewalk empty of tourists and people trying to get to work.  Just his thoughts and the steady pounding of his feet on concrete. Days like today, he let things fall into place as he exhaled and inhaled, sweating out the doubts and uncertainties.  

 

Coming to a stop at the edge of the Franklin Delano Rosevelt Memorial, Phil began to stretch, taking a breather before finishing the circuit and running back home across the bridge.  The nagging itch at the base of his neck, the one he’d had ever since he’d realized the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. had hired a known assassin to kill Wilson Fisk and used Phil as a sacrificial lamb to get the shot, grew even stronger as he clasped his ankle and bent his leg up underneath him. 

 

“You shot me,” he said into the crisp air, not looking around. 

 

“Can’t exactly predict where every bit of the shrapnel will go, but you were out of the main spray.”  Clint was leaning against the granite wall, looking like sex on a stick in a pair of tight jeans and worn, grey henley. “It was the only way to bust through the glass.” 

 

“Still …” He flashed the white gauze Clint’s way and kept stretching. “I figure we’re even now.” 

 

“Aw, and here I was planning what I could get in return for rescuing you.”  Clint’s eyes roved up and down, taking in the shorts and sweat-stained Army Rangers shirt. “That’s a good look. Come to think of it, you always look hot. In a suit, all professor with glasses and rolled sleeves, tied to a bed …” 

 

“If you’re here to get me to drop hints about where Bullseye is …” Phil started, but Clint cut him off. 

 

“Nope.  I’ve put you in too much danger as it is.  No way were you supposed to walk away unscathed.”  He pushed away and stalked towards Phil, careful to stay out of the security cameras line of sight. “Tell me you believe me now, that you can’t trust Pierce.  I’ll sleep better.” 

 

“Who said anything about sleep?”  Phil turned, caught Clint’s wrist and spun them off the main path. “If I can’t, then why should you?”

 

A hard kiss, the kind that brooked no argument about how much he wanted Clint, one that settled once and for all any lingering doubts.  Phil leaned in and let his senses explode; they faded from sight, into their own world, just the touch of their lips and their own mingled breath.  A biker whizzed by, another jogger, two moms with strollers, but none so much as glanced their way. 

 

The surprise in Clint’s eyes stirred Phil further, the pleasure of knowing he could put it there.  Phil chuckled as he stroked Clint’s bicep. “Next time, we go with my plan; it’ll be less messy.” 

 

“Next time,” Clint repeated.  “Do I need to bring cookies?” When Phil raised an eyebrow, Clint explained. “The dark side.  We have cookies.” 

 

Phil slipped the USB drive into the front pocket of Clint’s jeans. “There’s an old DOJ facility in Oak Ridge, Tennesee.  S.H.I.E.L.D. had a training camp there; Bulleye’s hold up in building 17, waiting for further instructions. You’ve got maybe an eight-hour window.”  

 

That smile, the one that made Phil go weak in the knees, spread across Clint’s face.  “Aw, Phil, that’s the perfect gift. And data too? You like me, you really like me.” 

 

“It seems I do.”  With effort, Phil put more distance between them.  “I also have an exam to give, papers to grade, a meeting with my publisher, and a conspiracy to uncover, all of which means I’ve got to go.” 

 

“Be careful.” Clint turned deadly serious. “I mean it; this rabbit hole gets dark and deep. Trust no one.”       

 

“Exactly why I’ll be in touch; I can trust you to be you, and that’s more than I can say for the people at S.H.I.E.L.D,” Phil said.  

 

Clint’s eyes followed him as he jogged out of the memorial; a long list of things to do and an array of moving pieces to the puzzle lay in front of him, but he was starting to understand how it all fit together. Now he just had to chart a course through the maze of lies and conspiracies.  Only one thing was certain; Clint Barton was the cornerstone to what was going to happen next … and, cookies or no cookies, Phil would be at his side.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, I work at a college, can you tell? I could spin stories about trustees and assessment and useless meetings that would make you want to pull your hair out. ;)


End file.
